


Is You Is (Or Is You Ain't)

by DangerousCommieSubversive



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fights, First Kiss, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, Mutual Pining, also some semi-accurate slang!, period-accurate air travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9050827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/DangerousCommieSubversive
Summary: Angie arrives in Los Angeles with two serious goals–she’s going to make it big, and she’s going to give Peggy Carter a piece of her mind for just ditching her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story was commissioned by [grizlatron](http://grizlatron.tumblr.com) on Tumblr for her sister [sleeperagentclone](sleeperagentclone.tumblr.com). Merry Christmas to you both! ^_^ (And a variety of joyful holidays to everyone else as well!)

Angie didn’t really _object_ to smoking. She liked the occasional cigarette, y’know? Wasn’t the best taste in the world, sure, but it helped you calm down, gave you an excuse to get away from obnoxious customers once in a while. Not such a bad thing.

As she stepped out of the airplane, though, followed by a cloud of stinking smoke, she decided that she was never going to touch a cigarette again in her life.

Nasty habit.

The flight had been smoky and shaky and dull, and it had cost her a good portion of her savings, and it was probably the scariest thing she’d ever done in her life. Her seat had been comfortable, though, the meal had been pretty good, and she’d written her mother a postcard and caught up on some reading. So maybe it evened out.

She waited patiently to get her bag from the skycap, tipped him what little she could spare, and stepped out of the airport and into her new life. The air in California even _smelled_ different than in New York.

Maybe Hollywood would treat her better than Broadway had.

 _And maybe,_ she thought as she waved frantically for a taxi, _maybe I’ll actually be able to track down Peggy for once._

* * *

 

Peggy had a headache. And a neck ache. And a back ache. Quite frankly, every part of her ached, and she was entirely happy to blame it on Daniel—Agent Sousa. He didn’t even have the shield of having made her ache in some kind of scandalous but pleasant way—he _had_ kept her up all night, but she’d been chasing Hydra agents with him the entire time, and had barely gotten an hour of sleep. It reminded her rather unpleasantly of the war, and she was going to tell him so, right before she pointed out that if she didn’t get _some_ rest, she wouldn’t be much good for _anything,_ let alone complex espionage operations.

Through the window of the talent agency she could see Rose talking to a young lady in pink, looking sad and tired as she always did when she had to turn away aspiring stars that she actually _liked_. Peggy had a soft spot for most of them herself—it wasn’t their fault that they’d picked the one talent agency in Los Angeles whose criteria they could almost _certainly_ not meet. Every once in a while they had to forcibly send away someone particularly determined and bothersome, but most just went away looking dejected, and she felt sorry for them.

She stepped into the agency intending to simply walk through the front room to the back as usual, but Rose’s audition heard the door opening and turned around, and Peggy saw her face and said, “Oh.”

Angie said, _“English?”_

Rose glanced at Angie, then at Peggy, and then rested her chin on her hands, beaming. “Well, _this_ is interesting.”

* * *

 

Peggy was _right there._ She was just _standing in the doorway,_ like she hadn’t gone _anywhere,_ like they were both back in New York and she’d just decided to drop in at the diner for some coffee and sympathy. She was looking very tan, obviously Hollywood was treating _her_ right, it was real cute, but there she was. At an agency. She hadn’t said anything about any _acting._

Angie took a deep breath, tried to say hello, and instead started with, “You _ditched_ me!”

Peggy let out a small noise, drew herself up, and said, “I did _no_ such thing.”

“Well, whaddaya _call_ it then? I move into that big house with you away from all my other friends, rattle around like a pea in a can, and then three months later you _leave?_ You just run off to California to do more stuff you get all weird and quiet about without even saying goodbye!”

“I _said_ goodbye! Several times!”

“Well…well, you didn’t do it right.”

“What on Earth does that even _mean?_ ”

Angie folded her arms and ignored the question. She could feel her foot start to tap—like she was turning into her mother, _God._ “ _And_ , when I _finally_ decide to give up on awful Broadway auditions and move here to do some awful Hollywood auditions _you’ve_ taken up acting? You got _some_ nerve, English.”

Rose had taken a tin of hard candies out of her desk and was watching them intently, looking fascinated. “She really does, doesn’t she.”

Peggy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Rose, you’re not helping.”

“What? It’s true, you’ve got all _kinds_ of nerve.”

“Rose, _please._ ”

“Nah, I like her.” Angie’s foot was still tapping. She couldn’t stop it now if she wanted to; it had a mind of its own. “I mean I don’t think she was going give me any good news before you walked in but she’s got the right idea.”

“It’s ok, hon.” Rose reached across the desk and patted Angie’s hand. “You did pretty well, we just don’t take on a lot of new clients. I’ll write you a reference for another agent I know, I think you’ll be a big hit.”

“Thanks, Miss Roberts.” Angie grinned at her. “You’re a peach. As for _you,_ Peggy Carter—” she turned back around.

* * *

 

Peggy was genuinely worried that Angie was going to start shouting. She wasn’t _much_ of a shouter normally, but if she actually wanted to then she’d put her whole heart into it, and that would draw down the entire Los Angeles constabulary on the Auerbach Theatrical Agency, which would just be… _awkward._ The police tended to stay out of the agency’s way, but Peggy was certain they’d make an exception if someone was _actually_ screaming blue murder. And _she’d_ be the one having to explain it all to Agent Sousa, which she didn’t want to do for any number of reasons, not the least of which being that he’d look at her with those lovely eyes of his and be disappointed about all the trouble. She wouldn’t be able to bear it, not with Angie having already arrived to be disappointed at her in a rather fetching pink sweater set.

“Angie…” she said, trying desperately to think of what to say. “It’s not as if I wasn’t planning on coming back.”

Fortunately they were interrupted by Agent Sousa himself emerging from the back to say, “Carter, I thought we were going to go over the—oh. Ah. Hello, Miss Martinelli.”

 _When on Earth did they even…oh, yes. Yes, they_ have _met, haven’t they._ “Angie’s…ah, she’s moved to Los Angeles. To pursue a career in Hollywood.”

“Hey, if you can carry a tune in a bucket and know some basic soft-shoe there are a couple of directors I can introduce you to.”

Angie flashed Peggy a smug look and then said, “Y’know, that’d be real sweet of you, Agent Sousa, thank you.”

“It’d be my pleasure, Miss Martinelli.” Sousa flashed her a grin and then turned to Peggy. “So…Carter, I was thinking that maybe—”

Peggy wasn’t even going to let him finish. Her entire body ached, Angie was staring her down like a viper ready to strike, and she’d had quite enough of everything. “I’m taking a day off.”

He blinked. “Oh. Uh…you know, I suppose that’s fair. Especially with a friend visiting. You, uh, you take Miss Martinelli around, show her the city. I’ll expect you back tomorrow, though.”

“Thank you, Agent Sousa.” Looking at Angie again was difficult; Peggy wasn’t sure whether it was the angry frown or the hurt eyes that were more painful. “Ah. Angie, would you. Would you like to get lunch?”

Angie looked at her for a very long time before saying, “Y’know, that’d be real nice. I think we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“I think you’re right, yes. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sousa.” Peggy offered her arm to Angie, feeling very uncertain. “Angie?”

Angie’s arm linked with hers like it had been a day since they’d seen each other, not several months. “Nice to see you again, Agent Sousa.” And to Peggy, “So let’s go get lunch then.”

* * *

 

After they left the agency Angie stopped speaking to Peggy, doing no more than lifting her nose haughtily in the air at every awkward attempt at conversation as a taxi took them to Sunset Boulevard. It wasn’t very hard to avoid chatting; Los Angeles seemed so spacious and bright compared to New York that she kept staring out the window. She’d never seen a palm tree in real life before. In movies, sure, but she’d always vaguely suspected that they were made up. Even the diner Peggy brought her to seemed bigger than the one she’d worked in. And brighter, too—not cleaner, really, but more…filled with light.

It was only once the waitress had brought them some coffee—which was sort of a treat by itself, _sitting_ in a diner while someone brought _her_ things—that she said, “You could have called me or something.” She couldn’t stop her throat from tightening. “That house has six different telephones, I would’ve picked _one_ of them up.”

“I wanted to. Please don’t look at me like that, Angie, I _did_ want to.” Peggy always looked so pretty, even with dark circles under her eyes and what had she been _doing?_ Hadn’t she been _sleeping?_ “But things were…very complicated here.”

“Musta been, if you couldn’t call even _once._ Didn’t even send me a postcard. No ‘hey, Angie, I got to California and we ate lobster on the flight and it didn’t crash at all, so don’t worry about me.’ I _missed_ you.” She felt like she was going to cry. _Dammit._ “What if you’d gotten _shot?_ Nobody woulda _told_ me.”

“I was never in any— _someone_ would have—” _There_ was the lie, and then the realization, and then Peggy looked away and said, “People died. People I cared about. And I…I didn’t want any of that to find you. But yes. I should have called you and I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

Luckily at that point the waitress came by to take their orders, so they didn’t have to talk to each other for a minute.

* * *

 

Angie still hadn’t spoken by the time their food came, and Peggy was beginning to worry that she’d lost completely.

Until, staring down at her sandwich, Angie said, “I’m sorry, English, I shouldn’ta yelled at you. I know you get into all kinds of dangerous stuff doing whatever you do.”

“No, you were quite right, I should have written you at the very least.”

“I mean, it woulda been nice.” There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Angie did look up, and the corners of her mouth were curled up into the _wickedest_ smile Peggy had ever seen on someone who wasn’t about to shoot her. “So you doing any actual acting, or is that all a front?”

“Oh my god, no. Not for lack of _Howard’s_ trying, of course, but I suspect he has ulterior motives.” Peggy grinned. “I’ve _met_ a few actresses, but I suspect you wouldn’t get along with them. When _you’re_ a big-time Hollywood star, please promise me you’ll be a bit less awful.”

“ _I’m_ the nicest girl you ever met, that’s not gonna change when I get rich and famous.” Angie tossed her hair, and then took a bite of sandwich so massive that it was positively unladylike.

Peggy stared at her, said, “Miriam would be _horrified_ with you,” and started to laugh.

“Y’know what,” Angie said once she’d swallowed her mouthful, “Miriam ain’t here. And I’m gonna be a famous actress. So there.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Peggy stifled her laughter, suppressed the urge to reach across the table and brush a lock of hair out of Angie’s face, and picked up her own sandwich. “So how did you find the Auerbach Agency?”

“Oh, y’know, I saw the sign and it seemed real small, so I figured I wouldn’t have a lot of competition…”

* * *

 

Peggy took her sight-seeing, and it was real nice, but Angie just didn’t have the head for sight-seeing right then. She nodded, she smiled, she _did_ get excited about a few things (because who _wouldn’t_ get excited about the Chinese Theater?), but mostly she was distracted by the constant song of _Peggy, Peggy, Peggy, Peggy’s ok, she didn’t get shot, she’s here right now and she looks nice in that green color, did she have that blouse before?_ She felt like she was going to float right up off the ground, which she was determined _not_ to do—one flight had been plenty, and she didn’t actually feel like going anywhere.

Maybe this was how Ralphie felt right before he robbed that newsstand. Sort of excited and dreamy. It’d explain why he’d gotten hit by the bus, she barely felt like she could focus on a _thing._

They went to a restaurant on Santa Monica Boulevard for dinner. It was very fancy, or at least it seemed like that to Angie—Peg knew _Howard Stark,_ she’d probably been to way nicer spots. _Angie_ just felt nervous, which was really the only thing that finally shook her up enough to say, “So. How’s it going with Sousa?”

Peggy _blushed._ Mostly her nose turned kinda pink, which was real cute. “How do you mean?”

“Well, y’know. Seemed like you two liked each other ok back in New York.” Angie grinned across the table at her. “And I hear all sorts of things happen out here. Least if you hear the way my mother tells it.”

“Yes, well.” Peggy coughed awkwardly into her napkin. “It’s not going much of _anywhere_ , really. I do like him quite a lot, but, as it turns out, not _nearly_ as much as he likes me. Quite frankly it’s made things rather awkward.”

“Oooh. I getcha. What about that Stark guy?”

“Oh my god, not in a million years.”

“…yeah, that’s probably good, you oughtta see some of the stuff I turned up in that house after you left.” _So she’s not seeing anyone. So that’s…that’s something._ “ _Are_ you doing any acting?”

Peggy laughed outright, a delighted chuckle that Angie had really missed. “I do enough pretending in my regular work, I think I’ll leave the acting to you. _Speaking_ of Howard Stark, by the way, did you know he’s decided that he’s a producer now?”

* * *

 

The ceiling in Angie’s room at her motel was cracked, and even as Angie was unlocking the door it started raining and the crack began to drip water onto the bed. Peggy, coming into the room behind her, said, “Angie, this _can’t_ be where you’re staying.”

Angie shrugged, looking embarrassed. “It took about half my savings just to get the plane ticket. I told the taxi guy to bring me to wherever was cheapest.”

“That wasn’t a protest, Angie, it was a statement. You can’t stay here, you’ll catch your death in the first real storm.” Peggy looked over the water-stained wallpapers and scratched furniture with increasing dismay. “How long did you pay for? I’ll pay you back for it, but you’re leaving this place immediately, you can stay with me.”

It felt wrong to be pleased that it was Angie’s turn to blush. “Peg, you can’t just…”

“I rather think I can, I have plenty of space at my apartment and I see no reason for you to get soaked and die of pneumonia.”

“Won’t it be a problem if you patch things up with Sousa? He probably won’t want some roommate hanging around.”

“I don’t give a damn what Sousa wants, I like you more than I like him.”

Angie turned bright red. It was rather fetching, actually, until Peggy realized _why_ she’d gone so red and found herself unable to focus because she was blushing badly herself. She supposed she could have phrased herself so as to be _less_ obvious, but it wasn’t as if she’d actually admitted anything, was it?

Angie was still blushing. “I. Uh. I didn’t know you…”

“Were Dutch?”

“I was gonna say I didn’t know you liked gettin’ dinner in the Village.”

“Once in a while.”

“So if I tell you that I shoulda gotten a good-bye kiss before you ran off to Hollywood then you’re not gonna be mad at me?”

“I did want to give you one, but I didn’t actually think that you’d be…keen on the idea.” Peggy coughed. The whole situation was beginning to feel rather like a tense post-mission briefing.

There was a very long silence in which they stared at each other and rain pounded on the roof of the motel and the drip from the crack in the ceiling got worse and worse, and then, finally, Angie said, “Look, English, are you gonna kiss me or _what?_ ”

Peggy thought, briefly, about how much she missed going dancing, and then kissed Angie with the kind of focus that she normally devoted to codebreaking.

“Well, _finally,_ ” Angie said against her lips, and threw her arms around Peggy’s neck. “Oughtta _known_ I’d have to go to Hollywood to get a Hollywood ending.”

* * *

 

After Angie had gotten her first kiss, and a second one, and several more after that, she made Peggy help her pack up the few things she had, so they could get out of the awful, drippy motel room together. “So did you _really_ miss me?”

“Of course I did.” Peggy folded clothes faster than anyone else she’d ever known. “I had a dream about you, actually.” Her lipstick was messed up. Angie thought about telling her, but then decided that it was _way_ too cute to fix.

Angie stifled a giggle. “What kinda dream?”

“Oh, not like—you were singing and dancing.”

“Ooh, it wasn’t ‘Is You Is Or Is You Ain’t,’ right? Because I’m starting to think that’s not my best number.”

“No, it was something else. I don’t quite remember what, but it wasn’t that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Share, enjoy, and please leave me a comment if you liked the story. <3


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